© the other press Culture ponyboy ponyboy Amanda Aikman Culture Editor Apparently there is some sort of conspiracy afoot. Despite the fact that I should be concentrating on work and school this summer, new and interesting music keeps finding me and lead- ing me off the path of righteousness. (If the path of righteous- ness consists of one creative writing class and a fact-checking job for a tourism magazine.) The latest culprit is the self-titled album by Vancouver's ponyboy (a.k.a. Simon Hatton). Adding elements like keyboards and drum machine (not to mention a perfectly integrated excerpt from Rebel Without A Cause) to songs that would have worked just as well as straightforward acoustic tracks, Hatton has created something truly intriguing and memorable. In addition to the innovative sound, the lyrics are something else as well. On “gave my heart to a girl...my eyes to some guy” Hatton sings, “I gave my heart to a girl / She took it for a whirl / She said she liked the way it felt but had her doubts / About the case that it came with / Suspicious of the way it lived / So instead of keeping both she tore it out.” Not bad eh? And then there is “cinamin.” You'll have to excuse me while I go off on a tangent here. This is the kind of song that makes you want to get up and run around; that makes young girls swoon and dream about the day when someone will write a song like this for them; that makes you play it loudly and repeatedly until people tell you to either shut the hell up or get out of the Other Press office so they can work. Now, I don’t drive and I don’t go to the beach, but if I ever find myself par- ticipating in those activities in conjunction—this is the song Pll be listening to. No wait, I'll be going to the beach, but it'll be late at night and I'll be driving too fast—yeah that’s better. Ir ll be just like one of those “edgy” teen movies (think Heathers or Less Than Zero). You know—the kind where the actors smoke a lot and there’s “alternative music” on the soundtrack. Inevitably my car will crash (a convertible maybe?) but the song will keep on playing and the kids in the audience will be like “I totally get it man”...but I digress. It’s a good song. The album closes with “sunday afternoon,” a lovely song in the fine tradition of songs about Sundays (Kristofferson’s “Sunday Morning Coming Down,” Morrissey’s “Everyday is Like Sunday” etc.), evoking a soft and mysterious quality—let’s call it “Sundayness”—with beautiful lines like “A lazy Sunday afternoon / The phone it rings / It’s out of tune.” Good stuff. So there you have it kids, yet another great album this sum- mer. But that’s it for me, I’m all about takin’ care of business from now on. Oh, wait a minute...is that the new Martin Tielli CD in my mailbox? For more information contact: ponyboymusic@hotmail.com Page 22 e http://www.otherpress.ca a Amanda Aikman Culture Editor It seems that the most commonly used reference point for the lovely songs on The Pernice Brothers’ new album, Yours Mine & Ours, is to that of The Smiths and their maudlin captain of unrequited love, Morrissey. Of course, it is easy to compare anyone who writes intelligent lyrics about heartbreak and loneliness to Morrissey, but there are also similarities to Johnny Marr's signature jangly guitar on “Water Ban,” and the turbulent drumming style on the Pernice Brothers’ “One Foot in the Grave” is not entire- ly un-reminiscent to that of Smiths’ kit man Mike Joyce. And then there’s the book. Joe Pernice has recently completed a work about The Smiths’ Meat is Murder, to be published as part of a series of books on influential albums. But this talk of influences is certainly nothing new for accomplished singer-songwriter Pernice who's music has been compared to the likes of Teenage Fanclub, New Order, the Cure, Elliott Smith, Elvis Costello, Burt Bacharach, Brian Wilson...and the list goes on. The true value of the Pernice experience however, lies in his own brand of beautiful and original music, not in these clichéd comparisons. Whether through the melancholy twang of Pernice’s previous band The Scud Mountain Boys, the lovely down- tempo artistry of his Chappaquiddick Skyline project, or the lush orchestral arrangements of his work in the Pernice Brothers, there is no denying that his music stands just fine in a league of its own. When The Pernice Brothers treated Vancouver to a recent show at the Royal, the crowd was easily won over by the band’s thoughtful performance, which ranged from shoe-gazing, heart-wrenching whispers to toe- fiugust 2003 tapping, beer-swilling singalongs. Among the evening’s highlights was an inspired rendition of “The Weakest Shade Of Blue,” the fabulous opening track off of Yours Mine & Ours, which came across much more upbeat than what I had expected after hearing some of the band’s older material. But don’t let the shiny happy pop arrangement fool you; Pernice can still break hearts with his lyrics, even while he is making them soar with his hook- filled harmonies. One of the great lines from this song, “Why don’t you come away with me and begin something we can understand,” eloquent- ly demonstrates this ability. The iiber catchy song drips with the optimism of a new relation- ship, all the while hinting at the delusions asso- ciated with such optimism. Further evidence of this weighty lyrics/airy music duality is present in the brilliantly loaded lines “I wish I knew / A sure, simple way to reach you / I'd be the King if I could say to you / Cut the baby in two,” from “Cut the Baby in Two,” a gorgeous tale about the futility of ill-fated compromises. This balancing act of sadness and joy between lyrics and music makes for the type of aural experience that can do strange things to a per- son. As at one point in the evening when an audience member was moved to yell out the not often heard sentiment, “Honk your Horn!”— the meaning of which was beyond me, as there were no actual horns in sight, but the impulse obviously came from a good place. Such is the power of truly great music; it can inspire you to dance, to cry, to love, or—if you are so inclined—to honk your horn.